Bad With The Good
by Jvictoria
Summary: Chekov comes to the sickbay and reveals however unwillingly a secret to the good Doctor that he's not quite happy about. McCoy's determined to change it, much to the navigator's chagrin.
1. Chapter 1

Walking down the hall toward the sickbay, Ensign Pavil Chekov tried not to limp. It wasn't really that bad of a pain, but it ached in a way that made him wince when he pulled his leg too far forward. He'd thought pulled something, but as time had gone on, he'd found the pain growing to where the captain and others on the bridge began to ask him if he was alright because moving his leg to sit at his station was almost more than he could manage. Had it been up to him, he'd not be going to bother the medical staff with something that the didn't think would matter in the first place, but Kirk had ordered him, telling him that if he couldn't move properly and they were attacked, Chekov would put himself and others in danger. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he walked into the sickbay. The pleasant greeting from Nurse Chapel did nothing to elevate his mood, but he offered a weak smile anyways, not wanting to take out his displeasure on her.

"What's wrong, Ensign?" she asked, rather surprised. Nothing had happened for the past few weeks on the ship so very few people were coming to the sickbay, most of those who did simply feeling a bit of a cold that was going around. She didn't see the young ensign very often, as he was in the prime of health.

"Eet eez nossing big," he said, finding it difficult to enunciate though is teeth, "ze only reason I came to get eet checked ees because ze keptin ordered me to. I sink I owervorked a muscle or somesing."

"Please come and sit," Chapel said, motioning to the examination table. Chekov did as he was told, moving as carefully as possible without showing that he was moving carefully. Of course he still managed to do something wrong and he hissed slightly in pain, halting suddenly with one hand on the side of the table. Nurse Chapel's brows raised and she immediately moved to assist him. "I thought that you said it was nothing!" she practically cried. Chekov made a face at himself.

"Eet ees nossing," he insisted, "really, I seemply moofed rrong."

"If you have the ability to put yourself into pain simply by moving something wrong, then it's not nothing," she stated, wondering if he was really this knuckle headed or if it was just a day where he happened to lack some brain. "Now tell me what happened to you."

"I am not rreally sure," Chekov answered as he was sat down on the bed with her assistance, "at first I sought zat I had pulled ze muscle and eet vas just sore. But eet has not gotten better at all. At zis point eet eez greatly annoying." He ran his palms over his thighs. They'd been sweating due to the effort of walking here without limping. Out of the corner of his eye he saw McCoy looking over a clipboard, but he didn't turn to look at him.

"Exactly where is the pain?" Chapel asked. Chekov ran his finger from the area on his right leg just below his buttock to where the muscle ended above the back of is knee.

"Here," he said.

"Had you been doing any heavy lifting when this pain came around?" Chekov made a face. He was put on the Enterprise for his smarts, not his strength.

"Not zat I can remember," he said, trying to be as polite as he could. He normally was polite, but talking through annoyances or pain had never been something that he'd been good at. Chapel brought out the tricorder and gave him a one over with it, then focused on his leg.

"If you haven't been doing anything hefty than I have to wonder how you managed to pull this off..." she said, "and you're covered in bruises, big and small... what did you do to yourself?" McCoy looked up then, moving closer to look over Chapel's shoulder at the tricorder.

"I am not ze most grraceful of Ensigns," he said, his face flushing slightly. He'd known this was going to happen at some point, "I run eento sings and trrip a lot. Zey are seemply leetle bruises from zat." McCoy took the tricorder from the nurse, her mouth slightly agape. Annoyance was written clear across his face.

"Look, kid," he said, "for 'clumsy' there are only so many bruises that you can get. But you have far too many to be able to brush it off as merely all accidents." He motioned for Chapel to close the curtain around them. She did so, still looking quite perplexed, and McCoy glared down at the boy on the bed. "Strip," he said. Chekov stared at him as though all knowledge of the English language was suddenly completely gone from his mind. The doctor only paused for a moment to give him a chance to move, then brandished a hypospray at him. "As chief medical officer of this ship, I order you to strip to your tighty whiteys or I'll be forced to sedate you and strip you myself!" Chekov gulped heavily and then slowly began to pull off his shirt, keeping his eyes closed and hating himself for simply being too embarrassed about what was happening to have been able to tell anyone in the first place. Soon both of his shirts were off and he'd folded them carefully and lay them on the bed beside him. He kicked of his boots and then carefully stood, wincing as he did.

When his clothes were folded beside him on the bed and he was sitting once again, McCoy was back at his side, this time without the tricorder. His mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes were the cold calculating eyes of a doctor with a terribly ill patient. The problem was that Chekov wasn't terribly ill, just horrifyingly embarrassed. The bruises on his arms were clearly in the shape of fingers squeezing far too tight. The blue welts on his chest and torso were mangled circles that had come from fists. McCoy soon grabbed his most trusted medical tool and pressed a few buttons the thing buzzing slightly as it gave him all of the information he needed and sent what information he wanted to save to the main computer terminal of the sickbay. It was far too quiet.

"Erm..." Chekov cleared his throat. "Doktor..."

"Who did this?" McCoy interrupted, not looking at the boy, but at his tricorder.

"какой?" Chekov gasped, "ничто! Er... nossing... nobody... I told you Doktor, I'm wery-"

"Clumsy, I know," McCoy said, finally raising his cold eyes from the tricorder to stare into Chekov's, "but you're not this clumsy. You can't punch yourself in the chest or twist to grab your own arm from behind like that. Who's been hurting you?" Chekov looked away, sticking out his chin stubbornly.

"Nobody has hurt me," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

McCoy let out a slow breath. There was very little keeping him from cuffing the boy upside the head. Was his pride really enough to let him get himself get beaten up and not seek assistance to end the problem? The very first person to stand up for him would be the captain! Chekov had powerful people alongside him! Why would he just sit back and take this!

"If you're not going to tell me then I'll have to get someone who can change your mind," he said, heading for the edge of the curtain, "get dressed. I'll get you something for your leg. But if you're not back here when I come back, I'm coming after you and you won't know the ceiling from the floor..." Without waiting for a response, he moved past the curtain, making his way toward the opposite end of the room. 'Fuck!'

Kirk had no idea why he was being called to the sickbay. Nothing had happened to give him a reason for it. Was there a new version of the flu going around or something? He entered the room to find Chekov half cowering under McCoy's icy gaze. At the sound of the door, the doctor barely turned, most of his attention on the young Ensign.

"Bones?" Kirk stared between the two for a moment, "what did you call me for? And why are you torturing my navigator?" McCoy shook his head.

"Jim, get the fuck over here..." his voice was the growl of an angry grizzly and even the captain didn't dare question him. He moved to his best friends side, casting a questioning look at the young Russian. The boy looked away, as though he knew what was coming and didn't like the thought of it at all.

"What-"

"Ensign Pavil Chekov," McCoy started, speaking slowly to control his obviously overwhelming anger, "tell the captain. Tell him or else you risk losing your station and being sent to the brig." Kirk's mouth fell open.

"Bones," he said, "I only ordered him to come here, I haven't-" those dagger eyes focused on him now.

"Then. Order. It." Kirk stepped back, but before his feet had even moved, McCoy was on Pavel again. He looked at the boy. Whatever it was it must have been something serious or else the most level headed of the crew wouldn't be acting like Chekov had been caught doing drugs. Of course, at that thought, the captain had to wonder.

"Chekov-"

"I am clumsy, keptain," the Ensign pleaded, shaking his head pleadingly, "zat ees all eet eez. I am just wery clumsy." At the look on his face Kirk had to halt. Just what was going on! Before he could ask, McCoy darted forward, grabbing Chekov's wrist so tightly the boy cried out in pain, the nurses on the other side of the room immediately turning in surprise and staring as the doctor dragged their shipmate's sleeve up his arm to reveal big purple splotches that he apparently hadn't done anything to help yet. Several of them gasped. Kirk himself couldn't help the fact that his mouth dropped open for a moment or two.

"Look at them, Jim!" McCoy shouted, "look at them closely!" The man did just that, then held out a hand over one of them, finding that the shape of the purple matched the shadow the light cast from him perfectly. He grimaced.

"Ensign Pavel Chekov," Kirk said slowly, "I order you to tell me who is the one that did this to you." McCoy let the boy go and he fell back against the wall, looking as though he didn't know whether to yell or cry. He hid his face by looking at the floor as he slid down the wall.

"I- I do not know," he murmured, "but... not one... not just one..."


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting in one of the ships common rooms later, McCoy drank heavily of his whiskey. He'd ignored the glass he'd been offered and taken the bottle instead. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even hear the captain come and join him.

"You okay, Bones?" he asked, raising a brow, "you've been quiet ever since what happened with Chekov." McCoy winced and took another large swig of the whiskey.

"Who would do that?" he wondered out loud, "he's just a kid... and never really does anything wrong. After all, he's usually on the bridge, doing his job. What's the point of beating him black and blue?" Kirk grabbed a cold glass of something or other from the replicator, what it was, McCoy didn't really care.

"I imagine they're just picking on him because he looks like good prey," he said, "I know what it's like being smaller than others and having them beat on you... usually just because. They give an excuse... but it's never a good one." McCoy turned and stared at him.

"So it's just basic bullying?" he demanded, "dammit Jim, we're all adults here, aren't we?"

"We are," Kirk answered slowly, "but you know that adults aren't always in the right. Some are just children in an older body. A lot of the time, they're proud of being bullies and don't want to stop showing that they're more powerful than others." McCoy grimaced at this.

"And just how would you know about bullies, oh great captain of all of us?" his voice dripped with sarcasm. Kirk gave him the smallest of smirks.

"You'd be surprised," he said, "just don't tell anyone I said that." McCoy let out a 'humph' and swigged more whiskey.

"So who do we have on the ship that we could classify as the traditional bully who the kid would run into?"

"No idea," Kirk shook his head, "I'll have to go through the records of all the people on the ship to be able to figure that out," he winced at the idea. Not that his buddy Chekov wasn't worth it, but that would take quite a bit of time. McCoy paused.

"Not necessarily," he said. Kirk raised an eyebrow. There was the hint of an idea in the man's voice, though it didn't happen often, McCoy being one who mostly stayed out of trouble.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. McCoy set down his whiskey bottle, the best sign Kirk had seen from him so far.

"I measured the height and width of the handprint on the kid's arm and it spread to full size at 8 inches from the side of the hand to the tip of his thumb by 9 and a half inches from wrist to middle fingertip. Whoever this guy is, he's huge. I have the feeling that his size would stand out in ANY record." Kirk thought about this for a moment.

"How many men do we have on this ship that would be that big?" he asked.

"Most likely one of the security guards or heavy lifting staff who work in the engine rooms," McCoy grimaced. He'd personally hate being roughed up by one of those guys... he didn't know how the ensign had kept his quiet.

At the thought he became angry again and chugged a good portion of his whiskey, coughing as he pulled the bottle away from his mouth. Kirk stared at him, clapping him on the back a couple of times to get him breathing again.

"You okay, Bones?" he asked, "what the hell is wrong now?" McCoy slammed the bottle against the counter.

"Dammit!" He looked at the captain with furious eyes, "why the hell didn't he tell someone? Why did he just sit there and let it happen? We all know that you'd be the first one to stand beside him if he needed help. An' he's good friends with that Sulu guy, doesn't he fence...? An' Scotty'll pick a fight with anyone who hurts his little buddy, an'-" McCoy hiccuped slightly, suddenly realizing that he hadn't eaten today and the fact that he'd been drinking this rather large bottle of whiskey for a while was making his head spin slightly. But his mouth was still moving against his will, rough southern anger pouring from his lips. "An' Spock wouldn' put up wit' that kinda thing, he'd throw whoever it was in the brig like THAT!" He napped his fingers, "An' if I'dda caught on sooner, I'd've followed him and figured out who it was, then I'dda beat them over the head!" He focused on the captain now, who was grinning immensely. "What?" he asked, sounding stupid even to his own roaring ears.

"Nothing," the captain said, "but you should know that your bottle's empty now and I think it's a good idea that I get you to your quarters before you make an ass of yourself." McCoy looked around and found that several others were in the common room and were staring at him with surprised looks on their faces. He let the bottle go and set to walking toward the door, trying to keep his face from turning red. He near tripped and there was the captain, ready at his side to make sure he didn't kill himself on his way back to his room.

"You should make sure you sleep plenty," he said, "and I'll make sure that some food finds its way to you for when you wake up. You'll need it... and a shower or something..." He got the man to his room and sat him down on the bed. He paused, looking at the still half fuming chief medical officer. "You shouldn't be so hard on Chekov," he said, "he's probably really accustomed to this kind of thing. But I imagine that he doesn't like us knowing that he can't fend for himself against his own people. They're supposed to be on his side, but they're the ones hurting him. He's embarrassed because he feels singled out for what's happening to him. Wouldn't you be a bit untrusting?" He stared at his best friend, whose half unfocused eyes seemed to click slightly as what Kirk said made sense... for once. "If you really want to know, then once this is all over, ask him. I'm pretty sure that just talking to him won't be bad for you... just make sure that you don't glare at him again... I'm pretty sure you scarred him..." And with that he left the room, heading for who knew where. McCoy groaned and dropped himself back onto his bed, throwing an arm over his face.

"Lights..." he growled out, the room instantly darkening. Despite the aid of the warmth in his belly, it still took him a while to fall asleep.

-Later-

Hours later, Spock found the ship's captain in the common room with a small portable information register on his lap. He rubbed at his eyes and sipped coffee, staring at the screen with an unusual look of worry on his face.

"Captain," he said, "you were supposed to be on the bridge, but nobody can find you. I was told by another of the crew that you had been here the last time you had been seen." Kirk stared at him in surprise for a moment before looking at his portable clock and then folding the register closed with a shake of his head.

"Gaaahh.." he groaned as he stretched to relieve the stiffness from his shoulders, legs and back, "I must have lost track of time. Nothing big, right? No Romulan warships that I have to take down?"

"No, Captain," Spock said pointedly, "there is a planet that we received a distress signal from and we have to go investigate. Now that we are here, the distress signal is already gone, but there is no response when we hail them." Kirk nodded at this.

"Arrange an away team," he said, "call for Sulu, Scotty, and Chapel." Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Chapel?" he repeated, "would McCoy not be a better choice for this situation?" Kirk shook his head.

"Normally I'd say yes," he informed the Vulcan, "but if he comes now the most he'd do was moan about his headache. We'll just make sure that we keep a good eye on her." He tucked the register under his arm and made his way out of the room, Spock following.

"What were you doing, Captain?" he asked, noting the register for the first time. Kirk would normally be spending his free time talking to one of the many female crew members. Researching them wasn't something he would do by choice... but there had been no orders issued to check on their crew members histories.

"Doing research..." Kirk said simply, as though he did it all the time. Again, Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Captain-"

"I know, Spock," Kirk cut in before his friend could spout logic, "I know. But don't ask me about it yet. But don't worry, I'm not planning on getting into trouble." Spock halted for a moment, staring at him.

"You plan it?"


	3. Chapter 3

Upon stepping foot on the planet that had hailed them, Kirk, Spock, Sulu, Scotty, two young men named Johnson and Smith, and Nurse Chapel found that they were in a large city with towering buildings not unlike the places on earth. The biggest difference was that despite the fact that there were vehicles all around them and the street looked packed, there was not a single person to be seen. The silence around them was deafening. Not even the slightest breeze stirred the area surrounding them.

"Are you picking up any signs of life?" Kirk asked, knowing that Chapel wasn't used to away missions but treating her as he would McCoy. If this happened again, she would have to get used to it. The woman stared down at the tricorder, and then looked around.

"Nothing," she said, "it's like... like everyone has just vanished."

"Illogical," came Spock's voice from off to one side where he was looking into one of the transport vehicles. Chapel made a face at him, but then looked at the tricorder again.

"There's nobody here, captain," she said, "not even the smallest house cat..." she bit her tongue as the ground started to shake violently. Chapel was thrown to the grown, along with several of the others. The tricorder flew from her hand, the strap breaking across her shoulder. She cursed delicately under her breath. _That_ was going to leave a mark for certain. The only one who managed to stay on his feet was Spock, who took up almost a fighting stance as he stared around them. The buildings shook, but none even cracked from the stress of the quake. From the distant north there was a scream, echoing over the rumbles of the planet.

Then, as soon as it had begun, the shaking stopped and the team was able to regain their footing. Chapel scrambled in the direction of the tricorder, wanting to recover it in case it was broken. She tapped the button several times, but it didn't turn on again. Again she cursed, but this time in her head, the noise from the groaning earth gone and unable to shield her words from surrounding ears. She had a reputation as a lady to uphold after all.

"Everyone alright?" Kirk asked, staring around at his team, taking inventory of their behavior. He was tired of them acting like things were fine when they were not. Chapel held her shoulder, doing the same as the captain.

"But for a few bumps and bruises we all seem to be fine," she said, noting that Johnson wad been thrown to the ground and was merely rubbing his bottom in pain, the others chuckling at him when they noticed... All but Spock, of course. What she wouldn't give-

"Good," said Kirk, "now we just have to figure out how to find out what happened to the people of this planet. Smith's brows arose.

"You didn't hear it, Captain?" he asked, eyes wide. Kirk looked at him questioningly.

"Hear what?" he asked. Smith pointed in the general direction that the cry had come from.

"That scream, Sir," he said, "during the shake, I heard a scream. I'm not sure where it came from, but it sounded like it was from this way." Kirk looked at his second in command, the Vulcan confirming with a simple nod.

"Then we go this way," he paused, "Chapel, are you still not getting anything?" The woman shook her head.

"The tricorder, Sir," she said, "the strap broke when I fell and it hit the ground pretty hard. It won't turn back on." Kirk paused for a moment in thought.

"Can we have another sent down to us?" he asked. Chapel frowned.

"I would have to go prep another," she said, "it would take about five minutes to recalibrate it and five more minutes to get the battery charge to reach it due to the change in gravitational pull. By my calcu-" she paused, "but if I may, Captain. I don't believe it is truly necessary to have to wait that long. I am worried that somebody may be hurt and I would rather not make them wait if they are truly in danger." Kirk nodded.

"Agreed," he said, "Johnson, send word to the Enterprise to prep an extra tricorder and have another of the crew bring it down to our coordinates." Johnson did as he was told talking quickly into the communicator before nodding to the captain. "Let's go then," he said, "we have quite a few places to search."

-Elsewhere-

On the ship, McCoy was just waking to the worst headache he'd had in a long while. He didn't know which he wanted to do first, vomit or die... or just both at once. His cabin door opened and he groaned.

"Don't walk so loudly," he muttered, and immediately hated himself for it. He didn't dare open his eyes. The world was spinning too much even while they were closed. The footsteps paused, then continued, much more carefully than before. "Dammit, Jim. Don't tell me you're here to mock me for what I said to you before... you knew I was drinking too much. And still you prodded at me. You at least knew what I meant, right?" The response was a small questioning noise. At least Jim was being kind enough to him to not kill him with noise. "I meant that I didn't think-" A straw was pressed to his lips. Water? That would either be wonderful or a nightmare. He sipped anyway and found that it certainly wasn't water, but something that nurse Chapel called 'the great cure'. She gave it to those who had stomach aches or the flu. Apparently it worked on hangovers too. McCoy sighed slightly.

"Thanks... but still... I don't want you to tell he kid what I said. He'll think that I'm trying to pull rank on him or something just to be mean. I'm just angry that he didn't come to us in the first-" his door opened and closed again. "-Jim?" He took a chance and opened an eye, looking around the room to find it empty and unchanged but for the hangover cure on his bed stand.


	4. Chapter 4

Before I begin, I would like to apologize to everyone who's been looking forward to this chapter. Life's gotten busy and I couldn't figure out how to get to the next portion of the story. I hope to update soon and even as this is being posted, the next chapter is being worked on! Promise! Happy holidays to everyone, and if you don't celebrate a holiday, then I just hope that you have a good new year! Or... a good month... or... be really happy! I wish you all the best!

~*~*~*~

…..........

Upon walking back into the sick bay, McCoy found himself staring at his captain who lay unconscious on a biobed nearby. He stopped the nearest of his staff, who was a young woman with a clipboard.

"What happened to the captain?" he demanded. The girl, quite used to McCoy's temper by now, barely looked up from her clipboard.

"Miss Chapel has more information than I do, sir," she said then turned away as she motioned with her stylus to the other woman still sitting by Spock where he was getting a cut taken care of. McCoy strode up to them with wide eyes.

"What happened?" he asked again, making the woman look up in surprise. Spock's calm face barely registered him, but he was the one to answer.

"The planet was dying," he said, "apparently the fluctuation of gravity either threw people off of the planet or crushed them to death." Chapel nodded.

"We were lucky to get out of there when we did," she said, "but we would have gotten away sooner had it not been for that little girl..." McCoy grimaced.

"How does this explain what happened to the captain?" The chief medical officer crossed his arms. Had Spock had any emotions, McCoy had the feeling that he'd have shown annoyance, but as usual, there was nothing.

"The little girl wasn't human," he said, "or at least not anymore. She seemed to have somehow been turned part machine." Chapel nodded vigorously.

"She was physically stronger than Spock," she said, "but was mentally unstable. We think it's because she watched everyone else on her planet die. She didn't know that she wasn't completely human anymore." She frowned sadly. McCoy stared.

"So you're saying that the Captain got himself beaten up by a little girl?" he wasn't sure if he should laugh or not. Spock and Chapel nodded.

"But don't worry too much," Chapel said, "he wasn't hurt all that badly. He just needed to rest because of a big bump he got on his head." McCoy turned away, pressing his hand to his face. What to say about this?

"Geeze, Bones," came Kirk's voice from the bed, "don't bother showing any remorse on my account." Leonard turned and looked at him, still trying to figure out what to say.

"You got yourself beaten up by a little girl, Captain," he said, somehow keeping a straight face, "what are they going to say about you...? About the people who work for you? We'll never be able to show our faces in Starfleet again." Kirk grimaced at him.

"She was a cyborg, Bones," he said, "you'd have had the same problem with her." McCoy raised an eyebrow at his captain, arms still crossed over his chest.

"I wouldn't have given her a reason to hit me, Captain, "what did you do to make her angry?" Kirk shrugged, then grimaced for his forgetfulness.

"I'm not sure exactly," he said, "one second I was talking to Mr. Spock, the next I was flying through the air and she was screaming something about blood and death." He settled his hand on his head, eyes half closed as he looked at the good doctor. "Now I'm just sleepy." McCoy moved automatically then, knowing that the Captain had already been looked over, but feeling the need to give him a good once over with the tricorder just in case. Kirk raised an eyebrow at him. "Worried, Bones?" he asked. McCoy grimaced at him.

"For your sanity," he retorted. Kirk chuckled and tucked his arms under his head. He looked over at Spock, turning his head slowly.

"You alright, Spock?" he asked. The Vulcan actually looked up now.

"I am completely healthy, Captain," he said, "the nurse was simply seeing to a cut. Should I keep an eye on the bridge for the time being?" Kirk looked at McCoy.

"What do you say, doc?" he asked, "am I healthy enough to run the bridge?" McCoy looked at the tricorder for a few more moments.

"You're healthy as a horse, Captain," he said, "but even horses shouldn't be thrown through the air. Were I a breeder I'd shoot you. You should sleep for a good few hours, but I recommend you stay here so that your sleeping can be monitored." Kirk sighed.

"You take the bridge, Mr. Spock," he said, "I'll be on the bridge in about twenty-four hours then... unless there's an emergency." The Vulcan nodded.

"Yes, captain," he said, and as soon as Nurse Chapel was finished, he was out of the room, heading for the bridge.


	5. Chapter 5

Ooookies... so this chapter took about an hour... surprisingly. I hope that getting two chapters in such a short time frame will at least partially make up for the hiatus I've been on. Hope to post the next chapter within the next two days. Off to bed now! Hope you enjoy!

…...

A few short hours after Kirk had fallen asleep, he was awoken again by a small whoosh as the doors slid open. He opened his tired eyes and as soon as he could see clearly, sat bolt upright, nearly tossing himself out of the bed. "Chekov!" he cried as the boy limped in, lip bloodied and eye blackened. He looked down at the floor rather than up at the Captain, as though he was ashamed of himself. McCoy was right behind him, moving to quickly lift the boy off of the floor and bring him to another biobed.

"Lay back down, Jim," he ordered, "you're still not completely well." Kirk would have given him a dirty look, but he was too concerned for the small ensign. The Chief Medical Officer set the boy down carefully, ordering two nurses to grab certain supplies that he would need to make the boy better. "Who did this, Chekov?" he asked, "was it the same guys as before?" Chekov's head ducked slightly in a nod, though he didn't seem to be happy about having to answer like this. One of the nurses came over with a small pan and McCoy held it beneath the boy's mouth. "Spit it out," he said. Chekov stared. "Stop looking at me like I've got three heads and spit out the blood before you swallow it." Chekov grimaced and did as he was told, McCoy's eyes widening as he saw just how much blood was spat; and with more coming. He used a small light to look into the boy's mouth and saw that there was a deep cut in the youth's mouth, looking frighteningly like teeth marks. He grimaced. "You bite your tongue?" he asked, suddenly a bit gentler than before, "why'd they suddenly stop caring that your bruises would show? They only left them on covered areas before." Chekov couldn't answer, so he just stared as the doctor grabbed the cellular regenerator, letting the blood continue to spill slowly from his lips into the pan. McCoy frowned.

"Since you can't really say anything, how about I tell you my thoughts?" he suggested, eyes still deadly serious as ever, but his voice sounding much calmer. Chekov nodded very slightly, not wanting to get his blood everywhere. "Okay then," he said, "I think that our macho friends somehow figured out that I saw your bruises and know that I would make you tell me where you got them. But because you don't know who they are, you can't give me their names. I suppose this was a way of warning you not to give their names away?" The boy blinked in surprise, unable to nod due to the regenerator being in his mouth. McCoy saw the blink. "I'm right then? I thought so..." He finished getting rid of the cut on the boy's tongue and pulled away, swabbing Chekov's chin with a towel. "Don't talk right away. You need to rest your muscle while the regeneration finishes up. But at least now you don't have to worry about swallowing blood." He cared for the eye and the lip, and then looked at the boy's beaten and bloody hands. He grinned slightly.

"You fight back this time then?" he asked, moving to care for those wounds, "atta boy, Ensign. You may not have completely succeeded at getting them off of you, but now they should know that you're not as easy to get at as they originally thought." Chekov was surprised at this, but gave a weak smile. Leonard McCoy, being assuring? That was certainly new. When the check was done, McCoy set down his tools and looked at the boy himself, instead of where the wounds had been. "There we go, Ensign," he said, "you should be up and about within the day, but for now I recommend you sleep." He paused for a moment, looking at the boy's lips. "Try saying something... anything simple." The boy stared at him, his lips parting and closing as though he couldn't think of anything.

"Я люблю ... er ... нет... Я подразумевал... Th-thank you, doctor," he tried to smile again, but it was revealed to be false, the boy too tired to really put his heart into it." McCoy nodded.

"Seems you'll make a full recovery," he said, "and don't thank me, Ensign. After all, it's my job." He paused, "I'm going to have to ask that you stay here for a time though. I would rather you slept where I knew you were safe... and I need to call in an investigations team." Chekov's mouth dropped open, about to protest, but McCoy's eyes hardened. "Think about it, Ensign," he said, "it's likely that you are not the only one who is going through this. How many of the other crew members do you think are having to go through the same thing?" The boy closed his mouth again. The thought hadn't occurred to him that there might just be someone else in the same predicament. "I will not allow this to go on. Go to sleep ensign. We will make sure that those who've done this will get their just desserts."

Even from where Kirk was, he could hear the near snarl in the doctor's voice. He stared from his bed, having never heard such a protective tone in the man before. He also saw from the look on Chekov's face that it wasn't expected. The doctor walked away, motioning to a nurse to make sure that the boy was comfortable so that he could sleep. Without thought, Kirk followed the man into his office in the back of the sick bay, quieter than he'd ever been as he moved. His curiosity was struck and he wanted answers. As McCoy set his PDA on the desk there, Kirk closed the door, making the man jump slightly as he turned. Then he glowered again.

"You're supposed o be resting, Jim," he said. Kirk raised his eyebrows.

"I'm plenty rested, Doctor," he said, "but I am curious of your interest in Ensign Chekov. Normally you would send him to his quarters and tell him to stay there. But you told him to stay here. Does he have a long standing illness that you have to keep an eye on? Or a harsh wound that will take hours to heal?" McCoy glared.

"I am the Chief Medical Officer of the USS Enterprise, Jim," he said, "I know what I am doing." The Captain raised his hands as though surrendering.

"I never questioned your ability to carry out your duties, Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy," he half teased, "but I don't see the logic in making him stay here. You could have him accompanied back to his quarters and let him rest there. Wouldn't he feel better there?" McCoy paused at this.

"I am going to call up an investigations team and figure out just what is going on here," he said, "and the kid should be here when they get here so that he can identify those who did it to him." Kirk shook his head.

"You know that they won't want him right away," he said, "they'll want to look at the information you've logged. They could have found him later when they needed him." McCoy gritted his teeth.

"Okay, fine!" he growled, "you want to know why I'm having the kid stay here instead of making him go back to his quarters? It'll make me feel better, Jim! We're here on this ship to go wherever we're told and take care of everything for Starfleet! We're here to work together as a team for the betterment of the worlds around us! Bu how can we do that if there are those within us who would do such a thing as prey on those weaker than them? I want the Ensign to stay here where I can keep an eye on him so that I don't have to see him walking in again the way he did just now. I know it's not protocol, but I also know that were I him right now, I wouldn't want to go out onto that ship again. I would have transferred by now. He's a damn strong kid and I don't think he deserves to be entrusted to just anyone for guarding, Jim." He paused as he realized his rambling and ran a hand over his face, leaning back against his desk. "How in the hell do you do that, Jim?" he asked. Kirk looked at him innocently.

"Do what, Bones?" he asked, though McCoy would swear that his fingers were crossed behind his back.

"Make me say everything that I'm thinking until I realize that I've said too much?" Kirk grinned widely.

"It's a gift Bones," he replied, "a gift through and through.


	6. Chapter 6

Determination showed in his features as he walked that day, Ensign Pavel Chekov of the USS Enterprise. There was something in his eyes that showed he was through. After the day before, word had gotten around the ship that there was someone bullying the smaller members of the crew. Several had seen Chekov on his way to the sick bay and knew exactly what had happened. They'd come forward themselves and altogether compiled an image via one of the less used persons of the crew who made images of all of the new species they happened to run into while in space. The computer was now comparing the face compiled to all the faces it had in the log of crew members. Of course, as soon as the young Ensign had seen the others come forward, his heart burned. He'd grown up with very strong morals and he didn't like that those like him were being beaten on at all. It was different when he'd thought that it was only him. But two of those who'd come in were female. They'd seemed far too skittish to even look into his own eyes. Now he strode toward the place where they usually met him. His hands were balled into fists and his mouth was set into a grim line.

All the while he wondered how he could possibly have not known that there would have been others there who they'd chosen as punching bags? He'd graduated from the academy at the top of his class, younger than the rest too. His brain was his pride and joy. Had they knocked his sense into his teeth to gnaw his food with or had he just been so blind as to think that one person would sate their violent urges? He was practically moving at a jog, his ears pounding with the force of his blood running through his veins. He wouldn't let them think that people like him were weak just because they were better in brain than body.

It took a while for him to take notice of his own stance. His head was lowered and his spine was curved, making him look like a werewolf ready to pounce as he'd rushed through the halls. He straightened himself and took a few deep breaths, having lost some breath in the building of his steam on the way there. And here he was in the less used halls of the farthest quarters out, where he frequently visited a friend of his so that they could play games in their free time. Of course, the first time that Chekov had visited with a nosebleed, it had been suggested that they meet in the common rooms instead, but then the game had never happened because his friend had never showed up. Chekov had found out later that he'd locked himself in his quarters after the others had physically threatened him. But oddly, he'd never come to any harm. It had always been Chekov they'd wanted. Likely because he was smaller and faster and gave a bit of sport to it... though the sport would have to be hunting, since Chekov always ended up feeling like a deer mounted on a wall. His friend had asked for a change of quarters, but the change was denied since Chekov had asked that it not be let out that he was being beaten up and his friend could not come up with a valid need for why he wanted to change rooms. Now he stood there, looking around and waiting, practically holding his breath as he did. Soon, a singular large body appeared to one side, seeming surprised as he spotted the young Ensign. Then he grinned.

"Well," he said, "if it isn't the Russian tart." His tone was mocking, but his body language was threatening, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he moved. Oh yes, he was definitely a part of the security team, but wasn't smart enough to get very far with it. Chekov stared him down, blue eyes not filled with fear as they usually were, but anger. He said nothing in response to the other, simply watching as he shifted himself to a lower center of gravity. This big hulk was gonna beat his lights out, he realized, but he would show him a thing or two about messing with those who looked defenseless. The large man laughed at him. "You think you can fight someone four times your size, little man?" he demanded, "well come on then, let me see what you can do." Chekov still didn't move from where he stood. The other raised an eyebrow. "Changing your mind? Or deciding that standing there like you don't feel afraid will make me want to stop? Why are you challenging me in the first place, little man?" He strode forward and reached out, grabbing for Chekov's shirt. The boy twisted to the side, keeping away from the bigger boy's hands. His blue eyes were calculating, figuring probabilities and using physics to try and see a way to not get his head beaten in. His opponent grinned maliciously and for a moment Chekov's heart felt like it was in his throat, making him swallow hard.

...................

McCoy let out a groan as he moved down the hallway quickly. How had he lost track of the boy? He'd been following him perfectly fine up until a few moments ago. He'd taken his leave of the patients for a short time to relieve the call of nature and when he re-entered the room, he just barely spotted Chekov leaving. Without thinking about why, he tailed the boy, staying only close enough to see him when he turned corners. Of course, with how the youth was fuming, he had the feeling that he could walk up right beside him and he wouldn't be noticed. But he kept his distance. Sadly this seemed to be his undoing as he turned a corner and no longer saw his quarry. Cursing under his breath, he strode forward, searching for some sign of the boy, wondering how he'd been given the slip.

It took a while, but McCoy was able to find him again. Of course, when he saw who it was the young man was up against, he half wondered why he was still alive. This man had to be over six and a half feet tall and was built like a brick wall encased in steel. He held the coughing ensign to the wall by the throat as Chekov's nails scraped along his wrist, trying to free himself in vain. McCoy was no fighter, but he ran forward, punching the man in the gut with every bit of fury behind his fist as he could get. He heard a crack, but didn't care. Actually he was almost pleased with how quickly the man went down, dropping the navigator as he did. He glared down at the fallen man as he regained his composure, mentally noting the communications grid to one side.

"You move an inch and I'll have you dropped onto an airless planet without a suit," he said, then moved to Chekov's side. "You alright, Ensign?" he asked, keeping the worry from his face somehow. The boy was still coughing slightly at having been nearly strangled, but he looked up at McCoy with confusion in his eyes.

"How did you--" the coughing interrupted him so he couldn't finish. McCoy had left his tricorder back in the sickbay and thus had to check the Ensign manually. He tilted the boy's head upward to look at the marks that had been left on his neck. He couldn't speak right away as he bit back the anger at seeing the mark.

"I saw you leave," he said, "I'd told you to stay longer so that you could confirm with the others that we'd found the right people, but then you left and I followed you." Chekov winced as the tender spots on his neck were touched, even lightly.

"Hv- Vhy?" he asked. McCoy paused in his examination for the moment, then shrugged.

"Don't know," he said simply. He stood and moved to the communications grid, pressing a button. "Captain, this is McCoy." Kirk's voice from the bridge could be heard, telling him to 'go ahead'. "I've met up with one of the attackers in the hallways of the living quarters. I would call security, but it's likely that they'll be his buddies. What do you think?" There was silence for a few moments before the Captain answered again.

"I'll be right there," he said and the com beeped to let him know that the conversation was over. He made his way back to the boy with a glare at the man off to the side who was still not moving. Apparently having a broken rib of his own was making him quite a bit more docile. It was then that he noticed that the man had a black eye and a fat lip. McCoy held in a grin. Chekov had revealed a few secrets of his own. Apparently the glee he fought to keep hidden had shown in his eyes. The man made a noise of disgust, wincing as he spoke.

"So you're another one of his toys, hm?" he said, trying not to gasp at the pain in his side. McCoy had no idea what the man was talking about.

"Shut up," he ordered, "I'm CMO and outrank you as much as the head of Security does." There was another noise, this one to vague to tell if there was meaning behind it or if he was just being noisy for the sake of making noise. His good eye focused on Chekov, glaring.

"So, freak, you've dragged our higher ups along with you, have you?" Chekov's face reddened slightly in anger, but he didn't say anything, knowing that retorting would just ebb the other on. Of course, apparently saying nothing at all simply made him continue, "I always knew that people like you would ruin the rest." McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Ignore him, Ensign," he said, "he obviously doesn't know what he's talking about." He settled himself between the two so their eyes couldn't meet for a glaring match. He was suddenly very tired and just wanted this over and done with. There was a small sound to the side and McCoy looked up to see Kirk standing there with Sulu, Scotty, and Spock. They were some of the strongest and most trusted of his crew. McCoy silently approved the decision, though he'd never tell it to that pointy eared hobgoblin.

"It seems we've caught a rat," he said, "Throw him in the brig." With the order the three moved forward, seizing the man and dragging him from the floor. McCoy winced. If they killed him they'd all be in big trouble.

"He might have a broken rib," he told them, "make sure he's brought to sickbay first. Nurse Chapel will know what to do with him." They grimaced and began to carry him off a bit more carefully, though it was obvious (at least on the faces of the two humans) that they'd rather throw him on the floor again and kick him a few times. Red faced from the pain of being pulled from the floor so harshly, the man stared at Chekov's face, which he could see clearly now without the doctor in the way.

"You think this is the end, man-lover!?" he demanded, "I'll teach you another lesson about what we'll do to all those like you when I see you again! And don't doubt me, we will meet again!" Spock grabbed his shoulder and he shut up, leaving their ears ringing from the noise that was no longer there.


	7. Chapter 7

McCoy wandered the halls of the Enterprise in a half daze. He was severely lacking sleep after almost a full forty hours without it. After they took care of Chekov, who hadn't spoken since the incident in the hallway, they gathered more evidence from those who'd come forward afterward, taking all bruises and scratches and injuries that were claimed on the security. The top number of attackers claimed was four, so it seemed that they wouldn't have to get rid of half their staff, as had been feared in the first place. But still, four of the crewmen in security had been doing the very opposite of what their jobs were and were beating on those who trusted them. McCoy could not believe it. He paused for a moment and looked around himself. He'd completely bypassed his own quarters, which were directly connected to the sick bay, and now he was in a hallway he didn't travel down much. He moved to the communicator grid and hit a few buttons to figure out how far he'd walked out of his way. Just as he did this, a door behind him opened and Chekov, speaking quietly to another of the crew, could just barely be seen, head ducked as he spoke. The woman patted his shoulder and said something that by the tone of voice sounded like it was meant to be reassuring, but McCoy couldn't hear the words clearly enough to tell about what. The young woman walked away and just as the young ensign was about to head back into his room, he paused, spotting McCoy.

"Er... Doctor?" McCoy turned to him.

"Hey there, kid," he said, "how are you feeling?" Of all the unholy conspiracies against him, this had to be the most annoying. How did he continuously run into this poor boy when all he seemed to want was to be left alone? Chekov ducked his head slightly again.

"I am fine," he said, as though this should be obvious. Of course, he'd spent most of the past forty hours in the sick bay as well, so it likely should have been obvious. McCoy grimaced.

"Then why do you look like your dog just died?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. Chekov made a face that made him wish he'd thought about his words.

"I am seemply tired, doctor," he said, "zat eez all. Vhat brings you zis far eento ze crewmen's qvarters?" McCoy looked around himself at the bland walls.

"I was taking a walk before I hit the sack," he replied, trying to making himself sound more intelligent than to be the CMO who got lost on his way to his own quarters.. right next to where he'd spent the whole day. How _had_ he pulled that off exactly? "Shouldn't you be sleeping if you're that tired?" Chekov shrugged and turned back to his room, waving the older man to follow. McCoy did so, moving curiously despite his tiredness. The doors closed behind him and he watched as Chekov pulled out a bottle of vodka from one of his storage spaces.

"You vant some?" he asked, as though he didn't really care what the answer was, "you look like you need eet about as much as I do." McCoy nodded.

"Sure," he said. He really didn't have much of a taste for Vodka, but at the moment he doubted he had any taste buds what-so-ever. And a drink seemed like it would do him some good. Chekov motioned halfheartedly to the seat opposite himself and grabbed out two cups, pouring one for himself and one for McCoy. The doctor lifted his glass, watching the liquid's patterns as it flowed against the sides. "Should we drink to something?" He was half joking, half still curious. Chekov thought about this, then raised his glass.

"Too a nice, steeff drink and zen some sleep..." he offered. McCoy laughed at this, tapping his glass against he boy's.

"Amen to that," he said, then downed the glass in one gulp. Chekov drank more slowly, watching him.

"Aren't you going to tell me zat I am too young to dreenk?" he asked curiously. McCoy put one finger to his lips, knowing that he looked stupider than he felt.

"Shush, kid," he said, "just this once, I won't tell if you won't." Chekov half grinned and poured the man another glass.

"I deed not sink zat you liked wodka," he said, refilling his own glass, despite the fact that he hadn't drained it yet. McCoy shrugged.

"I have no taste buds after forty hours without sleep," he said, "I don't think that it'll hurt anything to have a good drink before I actually do manage to get to bed." Chekov stared.

"Forty hours...?" he repeated, half standing, "doctor, you should go to bed." McCoy drained his glass a second time.

"Likely, yes," he said, "if I can get there." He stood, the lack of sleep and the alcohol mingling with the fact that he hadn't eaten much that day and making him dangerously off kilter. Without warning, Chekov was beside him, holding him up so he wouldn't hit the floor.

"On second, sought, I sink I vill have you sleep here," he said, "I vould razzer you deed not keell yourself vile valking back to your qvarters." McCoy made a face at him. Well... he hoped he made a face at him. He really had no idea what was going on except for when the boy had sat him on a bed instead of the expected couch.

"Kid?" he said questioningly, "aren't you going to want to sleep?" Chekov chuckled.

"You haff no idea," he said, "but you are my guest. I vill not mind taking ze couch." McCoy grimaced and grabbed his arm.

"I'm not gonna take your bed from you, kid," he said, "c'mon, bring me to the couch so you can sleep here." There was a half amused, half annoyed noise from the boy.

"You are not taking my bed, doctor," he said, "I am offering eet to you for ze night. Zat eez all." He tried to pull his arm away, but McCoy tugged again, too out of it to really know just how hard. Before he knew it, the boy was on top of him, sprawled out by the force of his pull.

Chekov sputtered as he tried to get off of the man without hurting him, half in Russian, half in English. Of course, it was hard to get up without the use of his left hand, which was still grasped tightly in the hand of the CMO. The man wouldn't have liked to say it, but he was drunk... or too tipsy to know just what he was doing.

"D-doctor!?" Chekov half squeaked, embarrassed more than he thought he should be. After all, it had been the doctor who'd done the pulling, not himself. It took him a moment to realize the man's other hand was on the small of his back, just above his tailbone. "Vh-Vhat are you doing??" McCoy's hazy eyes met his.

"Take the bed," he insisted, "I'll take the couch." Chekov let out a noise that was a half a laugh and a half a cry as he realized that the man had no idea what he was doing to the poor navigator. But still the boy insisted.

"I... I told you," he said, "I do not need ze bed. I haff a couch. I can sleep-- aah.." McCoy shifted beneath him and he felt the man's body reacting to stimulus it was simply not accustomed to. The very moment the man himself felt it he sat up, Chekov's wrist still in his hand. The boy almost fell, but somehow managed not to by clenching his knees on either side of the man's thighs. The doctor looked terribly confused, watching the boy's reaction to what he'd done and realizing what had just happened. Without thought he shoved him to the side, plopping him on the foot of the bed and leaning his head on his hands with a small groan. What was he doing!? He looked at Chekov.

"I-I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to—" then he saw the look on the ensign's face as the boy moved closer.

"Did you not hear vhat he said about me, doctor?" he asked, "or did you not belief zat eet vas true?" McCoy stared for a moment, then the words the man had yelled in the hallway came back to him. 'Man-lover'? He didn't know what to say. Chekov steeled himself, swallowing the lump in his throat before leaning forward and pressing his lips to McCoy's. The doctor's tired and inebriated mind couldn't figure out what was going on at first. His eyes closed to keep away the dizziness from having something that close to his face and suddenly all he knew was what he felt.

Chekov's soft and warm lips were still damp from the vodka, and from the fact that he habitually licked them when he was nervous. They were almost delectable against his tongue and mouth. Now if only he would drink whiskey...

McCoy shoved the boy away as he realized what he was doing. He was quite sure it was illegal in all 50 US states. He stood unsteadily and made his way for the door, wherever that was. A suddenly very worried Chekov was right beside him.

"D-doctor," he said, grabbing the man's arm, "you should not be valking around, you vill hurt yourself." McCoy stumbled at the tug on his arm, ending up pinning the boy against the wall, one arm above the boy's head to keep him up.

"It's better than hurting you if I stay," he said. Before Chekov could reply, the doctor was gone with a whoosh of the doors.


	8. Chapter 8

Kirk was surprised when he opened the door to his quarters and found McCoy there. He looked like he'd been drinking again and it was apparent that the mixture of drink with lack of sleep had set his mind to do only the simplest of things, breathing and walking (barely) and little else.

"Bones," he said, "why aren't you in bed?" The man was leaning against the door frame.

"I'm an idiot, Jim," he responded heavily, gloom weighing on him like a wet down comforter. That was certainly unexpected, but that wasn't what Kirk replied to.

"What have you been drinking, Bones?" he demanded, "and why were you drinking it? Shouldn't you be celebrating on your victory of saving those helpless men and women instead of boozing?" Letting himself in, McCoy dropped himself onto the other man's couch, leaning his head onto the back.

"I kissed the kid," he said. Kirk could hear the confusion and horror at himself in his voice.

"Wait... Chekov?" he stared at the man openly. McCoy nodded very slowly, his arm dropping over his eyes. Kirk felt stuck. What to say...? How to respond? Deciding on the less surprised reaction so that the hit wouldn't seem as great to the other man, he crossed his arms over his chest, staring. "And?" McCoy's arm lifted from his face just enough to look at the other man.

"'And' what?" he demanded, "aren't you hearing me, Jim? I kissed him. Doesn't that mean something to you?" Kirk rolled his eyes at his Chief Medical Officer.

"All it means to me is that I have something new to get on your nerves over," he said, "the real question is what it means to you." McCoy paused, then dropped his arm back onto his face.

"I... dunno," he said, "I can't figure out why I let it happen. My brain doesn't want to think in a straight line... nothing's connecting..." Kirk ran his hand over his head in frustration, then said pointedly.

"You're going to bed," he said, "Now come on. I'll get you back to your quarters and tomorrow you're eating something, got it? None of what you did today and shirking on your duties." McCoy grimaced as he was pulled from the couch.

"How the hell have I been shirking my duties?" he demanded. The look his captain gave him was damningly serious, the kind of look he had when something was about to go terribly wrong.

"If you don't eat, you're shirking your duty to your fellow crewmen because you cannot adequately fulfill your work," he said, "we need you, Bones. Be it for the doctor or the friend, we need you. Now learn to take care of yourself and stop becoming more self destructive by the day. And did you ever have that talk with Chekov that I told you to have?" McCoy's head lolled from side to side in a farce of a head shake. "I thought not. You're going to talk to him tomorrow too." McCoy would have protested had he had the energy. Instead he let the captain drag him back to his quarters and made him finally go to sleep.

….........

The next day, McCoy ate and asked nurse Chapel to give him a once over to make sure that he wasn't coming down with anything since he'd been taking such bad care of himself. She gave him a clean bill of health but for a small bit of hangover that he'd honestly thought was simply a headache, made him take some aspirin and sent him on his way, stating that if anything that called for him happened, she'd contact him. McCoy soon found his way to the bridge, where Kirk was talking with Spock about a planet that another ship had found the day before while the captain was away from the bridge. Listening in with curiosity, McCoy found out that the people on the planet were a tribal, non-technological people who knew nothing of the world away from their continent, much less their planet. But the ship who'd discovered the planet had been very fresh from engine difficulty and technical problems before all communications with them had disappeared. Now they'd received orders to go check it out, but all the while, keep the indigenous peoples from knowing about their technology. The captain thought about this for a time, then spotted the good doctor.

"Feeling better then, Bones?" he asked, offering a small grin, "I sure hope so because I have the feeling that we're going to need you on this next away mission." McCoy nodded, eyes glancing over at the back of the navigator's head before looking back at the captain.

"Much better, Captain," he said, "and ready to go when you are. When do we arrive?" Kirk smirked, seeing the other man's eyes flash to the young Navigator.

"Very soon," he answered.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: First of all, I'm sooooo sorry that I've taken such a long time to update. The entirety of this chapter has been eluding me and I've been running it over and over in my mind until I thought it was good enough to submit. I thank you all for the patience you've shown me. I am extremely grateful to you all.

Also, I feel it necessary to let it be known that from this chapter on, the story is going to make a strong curve toward BonesxChekov. I've gotten comments from those who like my story but aren't particularly into the pairing and I thank you for giving my story a chance and being so kind with your words. May my writing continue to please you enough to keep you reading it. Thanks to all again for reading! All your reviews are very much appreciated!

Captain's log

Stardate 2131.7

This message is being sent back to the ship via communicator due to the fact that once my away team, comprised of myself, Commander Spock, Dr. McCoy, Ensign Pavil Chekov, and Senior Security Officer Mekh, was beamed onto the planet, its moon came too close to the ship, the fluctuating gravitational pull wreaking havoc on our computer systems. This means that we're stuck on this planet for a few hours as it passes our ship by, navigations and transporter both being down.

When we arrived at the planet we found that the ship that had sent the distress signal had been destroyed and the crew who'd survived had taken a shuttlecraft to the surface in hopes of rescue. Now the craft was crash landed on a sandy beach and letting off a continuous stream of a distress call, which is where we beamed to. Mr. Spock has turned off the distress signal and now we are in the midst of a search of the surrounding area for the survivors.

That message had been sent four hours ago and now Scotty was in the Transporter Room, watching a half haggard Captain Kirk appear on the transporter pad, looking like he'd been dragged into an upright position by his second in command. The Chief Engineer looked the Vulcan over, brows rising over his forehead. Spock himself looked like he'd been through a war zone as well, though his naturally calm demeanor made him look only about one tenth as bad as the Captain did. Kirk was nearly dead on his feet. Three of the other of the engineering crew rushed forward to assist, Spock teetering slightly on his feet.

"What in the name of-" Scotty cut himself short as he moved forward from his seat behind the console, one arm outstretched to catch the First Officer if it was needed. Luckily, Spock regained his bearings quickly.

"I thank you, Lieutenant Commander Scott, but your assistance will not be needed," Spock said calmly, "please continue to scan the surface of the planet for the Chief Medical Officer and Ensign Chekov." The engineer backed away a couple of steps, nodding and moving back to his computer.

"The scanners in here aren't as good as the ones on the bridge," he said, pressing a button or two to quirk the settings, "if they haven't found them there, then there's less chance we'll find them here. But I'll keep looking, Sir." He grimaced slightly at the First Officer's back as he walked wordlessly out the door, Kirk having already been dragged from the room and to the medical bay.

Spock made his way down the hall toward the turbolift. He needed to get to the bridge. There wasn't enough information. The computers on the bridge would give him the knowledge that he would need to figure out just what had happened while they were on that planet. The medical team would run the proper tests on Kirk to see just what had overcome them and nearly brought them into that madness. And they'd get the information from Kirk that he could remember. Not that Spock himself was in a better place. When they'd come to, they'd been miles away from their landing point, wet, dirty, and in the midst of fighting off too many natives to count.

Perhaps he should start from the beginning then? He brought out his PADD and clicked several buttons before he began, recording even as he walked.

"First Officer Log

Stardate 2131.11

Upon arriving on the planet's surface we discovered fairly quickly the shuttlecraft that was used to transport the survivors from the station to the planet. It was nearly destroyed, but we were able to find messages left by those who'd piloted it for clues as to where they'd gone. Soon we found ourselves in the midst of the native race, first hostile at our alien appearances, then welcoming when the survivors appeared to show that we meant no harm. It seemed that those who'd landed had been adopted into the local village as members of their tribe. We were welcomed to join them in the partaking of their latest hunt and they treated us as traveling warriors.

All was well until we found that on this planet, mating was not subject to male and female only relationships. Many of the males from the tribe sought out our navigator's interest as a wife as many of the females sought out myself, the captain, and the chief medical officer; so many in fact that they began to fight over him in duels. In the end, they left it to him to decide between the winners, the chief giving him some sort of drink that was made from the juices of several different local fruits. Ensign Chekov took the drink in hopes that it would placate the males, but it did the opposite, making them attack him without warning.

Chief medical officer McCoy was the first to assist Ensign Chekov, fighting as I have never seen him do before, as though he too was taken over by the force that had struck the village men. I and the captain tried to intervene, but the chief and his people held us back, the survivors translating the fact that this was a ritual and only those affected by the drink were to take part in it. We were unaffected, so if we joined then we would be insulting the natives religiously and thus they would become violent to the death with us.

Doctor McCoy reacted like a wild beast, obviously not knowing what had come over him, but fighting for the Ensign none-the-less. Soon after that, the doctor took the Ensign and fled to the forest. We tried to follow, but were unable to as it was far too dense and Doctor McCoy was still moving like a beast, traveling like he was used to the planet's foliage. We were overtaken by a huge antlike creature that threw us into what seemed to be a river, but was filled with something far too strong to be water. The captain went unconscious first, myself following soon after as we were carried over a fall.

As soon as I came back to consciousness, I heard the speech over my communicator and requested the captain and I get transported back to the ship. The captain himself seems delirious with the intake of the chemical that ran through the river, though I seem unaffected. I will head to the sickbay once the doctor and Ensign are found."


	10. Chapter 10

Wow! Ten Chapters! I had no idea when I started this that it would take so long! Anyways, I've got a new typing program that has a better spell check now, so the only thing I have to worry about is how tired I am at the time of writing. Hopefully this will take care of the majority of grammar and spelling errors. I plan on going back and editing the older ones so that all those who hated my spelling and grammar won't have to worry about things like that.

About the story itself, Chekov and McCoy seem to finally be getting somewhere! In a stumbling-baby-giraffe manner, but they're still getting somewhere. I am very grateful for all of the kind words and reviews and hope you all continue to read! You guys are a major ego boost and perk up my bad days so nicely! 33 Thank you so much for all of the time you have given!

-Chapter 10-

The USS Starship Enterprise hovered just outside the reach of the green planet's gravitational pull, the same planet where the survivors of a smaller ship than the enterprise had crash landed in an escape pod. Most of the crew slept, the night time hours enveloping the ship in a blanket of hushed tiredness. It had been two days since First Officer Spock and the Captain had been brought back aboard the ship and only hours ago, the two missing officers had been recovered and brought back to the ship in grave condition. The doctor himself was still unconscious, having dropped as soon as they'd been found, carrying the poor navigator on his back. They'd been rushed to the medical wing and treated for cuts and scrapes, as well as dehydration and two days of malnutrition. The first to wake up was the Ensign, mind boggled and body shivering in shock from the wear and tear that it had gone through for the past two days.

Kirk made his way from the bridge, hurrying to see the two and how they'd fared. He'd been forced to stay on the bridge to try to negotiate with those who'd been left behind on the planet. Using what was left of the ship on the planet, they'd talked for those two hours, trying to figure out what they should do about the current situation. The men and woman who'd survived had already been taken as husband and wives to he tribe and couldn't leave their mates behind. The tribes people were not to be informed of the universe around their own world, and thus could not leave their planet. Kirk didn't want to leave them behind, but they refused to leave their people. In the end, the captain had agreed to report their assimilation to the tribe and their resignation to the Fleet.

Upon entering the medical bay, his eyes searched frantically before he spotted his best friend, the CMO of the ship, half curled in a corner, an unconscious Pavil Chekov curled in his arms as he stared down his medical staff with the eyes of a rabid beast. The look there took Kirk's breath away, stopping his heart with terror. It was as though the doctor had lost his mind, for there was no sanity within his gaze. He let out a wolfish snarl as one of he medics got too close Only a moment later, three security officers appeared behind him through the door and he spread his arms to halt them, still watching the scene before himself.

"Phazers to stun," he ordered, almost surprised at the calm sound of his own voice. He would have sworn that his heart had leaped into his throat to choke him to death. But he held his ground even as those feral eyes turned on him, his voice having alerted the doctor to his presence. His pulse pounded in his veins and he looked right back into those eyes, his own calm but determined, McCoy's panicked and ready... but for what? What was he so willing to do for the small body he now held?

The nurses backed away now that security was there, letting them figure out what to do with the doctor. After all, they couldn't get through to him. Maybe the captain, who had been McCoy's friend since the academy, could talk some sense into his tired and unhinged mind. The captain took a step forward, drawing a low growl from the man's chest. Kirk stopped, hand inches from the phazer strapped to his side.

"Bones," he said, using his nickname for the man instead of his formal name in hopes that it would get in to that gentler part of the southern doctor, taking tiny, almost unnoticeable steps toward the man. "Bones, you have to calm down. We're not going to hurt Chekov. We need to treat him for everything he's gone through these past few days. He's sick and hurt. You are too. You both need-" He dodged as McCoy threw something at him from the table of medical supplies beside him. The security officers behind him did the same.

"Captain," one of them said softly behind him, "you should keep away from him. If they don't know what caused this then they don't know how bad it's going to get. He's violent as it is… he might end up killing someone." Kirk looked back to see which one had spoken, but it really didn't matter so he looked back at his friend.

"I'll be fine," he said, "McCoy won't hurt me." The security personnel stared. The sanest man on the ship was throwing things and acting like a rabid animal. Was the captain out of his mind? They watched as Kirk took another step forward, knocking another thing out of the air as it was thrown at him. Luckily, none of the medical supplies near the doctor were cutting tools. His voice stayed soft as he spoke to his friend. "C'mon, Bones," he said, "you're net helping yourself or Chekov right now. If you keep this up, you could make him worse." Kirk knew the signs of shock by now, and Chekov's lips were frighteningly pale.

Before he could speak again, the ensign's hand lifted slowly in his sleep, grabbing at McCoy's shirt. This small movement made the doctor look down, eyes softening enough that he looked sane again. He never even looked back at Kirk, eyes wide as his arms encircled the ensign, looking as though he too was in shock. He held the boy tight, cradling his face to his own, mouth pressing lightly to those pale lips in terror. Then he looked up again, his eyes begging the captain to do something, to help Chekov. Kirk moved forward a bit more surely now, McCoy flinching at his sudden closeness, but fighting the automatic need to fight the other man. Kirk stretched out his arms slowly, ready to lurch back if it was needed. McCoy held out Pavel's limp form, that one hand still clutching to his shirt. Kirk took the ensign lightly and the doctor frees his shirt from the boy's grasp, still crouched on the floor. Holding that hand, he kissed it softly, rubbing it across his cheek before letting go. He slumped back against the wall, watching around himself with wary eyes as the others moved to look after Chekov, the nurses surrounding him and trying to stabilize him.

Once the boy was on one of the bio beds, Kirk turned back to McCoy, hunched like a gorilla in the corner. How to diffuse this? He made his way closer, touching the doctor on the shoulder lightly. The man turned and looked at him and suddenly Kirk noticed that his formerly blue medical staff shirt was torn and reddish brown. The color worried him, making his brows knit together. His friend was hurt.

"C'mon, Bones," he said, "you need to get treated… and you need sleep. I give you my word that Chekov will be safe and sound." He held back the motion to cross his heart like a child, despite the fact that McCoy looked like he needed all guarantees of the captain's words right now. The doctor leaned back against the wall, eyes tired. He more or less flopped to one side then, eyes dropping closed as he went out like a burnt bulb.


	11. Chapter 11

Time had passed since that faithful day when the Chief Medical Officer and Ensign Navigator had been recovered. Weeks worth of it, actually. Pavel was completely healed and back on the bridge, bringing the ship from place to place, constellation to galaxy, pleased to be back to normal… or rather, mostly normal. The bullies had been tended to and the Chief Medical Officer was no longer insane. Kirk laughed with his crew on the ship, no longer worried about the two, and the rest were simply glad to go on with life. One thing was different, and that was the way the CMO looked at the young Navigator whenever he visited the bridge. Nobody missed the longing in his eyes no matter how he tried to hide it. When asked, he claimed that it was the after affect of the drug that had been run through his and the ensign's systems.

With research, it had been revealed that the drink Chekov had taken from the chief of the tribe was made from a fruiting plant very similar to the spores of the plant found on the Federation Colony on Omicron Ceti III and a 100 times stronger cousin of the Terran _turnera diffusa_, or Damiana plant. Even with the similar cellular structure and genetic information (which told the crew's botanists that the three plants were somehow distant cousins) this plant's reaction in humanoids was almost the opposite of the one on Omicron Ceti III. The creature –or person- who consumed the fruit of the plant would begin to exude pheromones that would send suitable mates into a frenzy, making them violent and territorial, which explained the behavior of the males in the tribe.

As for the after effect of the plant, it seemed that the amount of adrenaline that had been forced through doctor McCoy's veins had kept him awake for the entire time he and Ensign Chekov were on the planet, protecting and fending for his "mate". It had continued on the ship when they were recovered, though most of the drug had been out of Dr. McCoy's system by then. McCoy didn't remember much from the beginning, but he had hazy flash backs every now and again of when he and the ensign had first run away. The memories made him shudder, but he never told anyone about them, saying that as long as they were both healthy and happy, it didn't need to be brought up. Kirk didn't push on this for once, seeing just how uncomfortable the topic was for him. Pavel had given all the information that was useful but no more, so the story wasn't heard from him either.


	12. Chapter 12

I warn you, they get pretty heavy in this chapter! Keep that in mind please!

-Chapter 12-

The day had been slow and McCoy was walking through the halls toward the ensign's room. He'd hoped that he could bring something to him, have an excuse for going to his room rather than calling him to the med bay, but there was nothing and the things he wanted to talk to Chekov about were far too personal to chat about with Nurse Chapel sitting a short distance away at the same table. He paused for a moment to gather himself, then pressed the button to inform Chekov that there was someone at the door. It opened with a small whoosh and there he was, apparently fresh from cleaning; his hair was wet and he wore fresh lounging clothes rather than his uniform. McCoy nearly choked on his own tongue. Luckily, Chekov saved him by talking first.

"Doctor?" he said in surprise, eyebrows raising slightly, "vhat can I help you viss?" The doctor took a small breath.

"May I come in?" he asked, "I wanted to ask you a few questions." The look of confusion he got almost prompted an explanation from him, but Ensign ushered him inside and motioned to a chair.

"Eez zees about vork or closer to a social wisit?" he asked, "eef eet eezn't about vork zen I can offer you a drink." McCoy looked at him in surprise for a moment, then laughed nervously and shook his head.

"Not about work, but I still turn down the drink," he said, "I find that the more I drink, the more stupid things I do. Thanks though." Pavel shrugged and sat at the small table with the man.

"Vhat can I do for you, Doctor?" he asked, almost pleasantly. McCoy rubbed his palms over his slacks for a moment, trying to find the words to say to get his questions out.

"It's about… uh… back when we were stuck down on that planet," he said, "when I was still under the effects of the drug-" his words screeched to a halt when a red blush ran over Chekov's face and his mouth dropped open. Well, that answered his first question. The ensign certainly remembered what had happened. That look on his face would have made McCoy chuckle, had he not been so nervous.

"Uhm… vhat about eet?" the navigator asked. McCoy took another breath.

"What happened back there?" he asked, "the last thing I remember was you taking a swig of that fruit drink and then I was on the ship again and trying to figure out why people were treating me like a penitentiary patient. I've been told about my behavior on the ship and some memories have come back to me, but I still don't know the whole story. What happened?" Pavel frowned for a moment at this, thinking even as he blushed more. Then he stood.

"You may not vant a dreenk," he said, "but I vill haff one. I _need_ one eef zis ees going to be ze topic off conwersation." He made his way to the cupboard where he'd grabbed the vodka before and took out another bottle of it along with a single glass. McCoy frowned at this, not liking the reaction.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked then, concern on his face, unable to be hidden. His worst fears may have come to light and if they did, he'd never be able to look the kid in the eye again. Chekov paused as he closed the cupboard, then shook his head, bringing glass and bottle to the table.

"You deed not," he said, "you vere ze one who made sure zat I vas safe. You protected me vhile ve vere een ze forest." McCoy stared for a moment.

"Then why is it that you seem so unhappy with the fact that I've come to ask you about it?" he asked, now terribly confused. Pavel, now sitting in the chair, regarded his glass for a while in silence.

"You know, for a vhile zere I really sought zat you vere going to hurt me," he said, "but instead you protected me." He took a breath and closed his eyes, going back to the very moment when he'd taken the drink from the chief. "I vasn't sure vhat to expect vhen ze chief gafe me ze dreenk. And vhen ze members of ze tribe began to attack I sought I vas a goner. But zen you vere zere, safeing me and bringing me avay from ze danger." He looked at McCoy then, blue eyes practically glowing with sincerity. "You deedn't hurt me ewen once." McCoy had to swallow his heart at that look in the boy's eyes.

"Then why your reluctance to tell me what happened?" he asked. The boy didn't look away.

"Do you remember vhat happened vhen you keessed me?" he asked, "ze last time I saw you before ve vent planetside?" McCoy nodded, guilt arising, but not terribly strong now that he knew Pavel didn't think any worse of him.

"What has that got to do with it?" he asked. Pavel made a face.

"Viss all due respect, doctor, you are a homophobe. You keesed me, and zen you ran avay and deedn't say anozzer vord to me until ve vere trapped on an unfamiliar planet and you vere too drugged to ewen know vhat you vere doing. And seence zen, you haffn't spoken to me about eet. I am afraid zat eef I tell you vhat happened down zere, you vill not like me as a friend anymore." It sounded almost juvenile, especially coming from the young man, but it made sense. Sadly, it also just made McCoy wonder more.

"You and I have been through too much for me to not like you," he said, "and now you're making me wonder again. Just come on and tell me already. I give you my word as a God fearing man that I will not think any less of you." Pavel nearly winced at this.

"Right," he said, looking down at the table, "I vas preetty surprised vhen you picked me up off of my feet and ran avay eento ze forest. Eet vas a you zat I had newer seen before. You brought me to a safe place vhere ze natives and ze animals could not get us… kind of a caiff een a tree. And zen you left me on one side of ze caiff, and you vent to ze ozzer side. You already know vhat ze drug vas doing to you, so I do not haff to explain zat part." McCoy flushed slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose to hide it.

"I do know," he said softly, "I read the full report on the plant as soon as it was completed. Which is why I came to ask if I hurt you. What kept me from trying?" He couldn't imagine himself being able to do the right thing when he wasn't even in his right mind. He shushed and let the ensign finish talking.

"Vell," he said, looking away again, "you vere… een a lot of pain… and somesing about ze drug vas making you seem like you vere loosing your mind seemply for ze vant of contact. I obliged." McCoy stared.

"You _what?_" he demanded, dumbfounded at this new turn. Chekov winced away.

"You needed help," he said, trying to sound firm, but failing, "I vas ze only one zere who could help you, so I deed. I deed not make you eempure or anysing… I vouldn't do zat to you… I seemply helped seence I knew how." McCoy's mouth went dry.

"Do you mean that you…" he trailed off, staring at the boy speechlessly. Chekov grimaced and stood up from the table, slamming his hands down.

"I am _not_ a child, Doctor!" he growled out, "I knew vhat I vas doing! I deed not do anysing to endanger eizer of us and you needed help! Vhat do I haff to do to prove to you zat I am not so weak as you sink I am?" McCoy stared for a moment and then shook his head, standing as well and raising his hands before him in almost a sign of surrender.

"That's not what I meant," he said, "I just…. I'm not used to the thought of…" He bit his lip, halting again, drawing a moan of annoyance from the Russian.

"Not used to _vhat_!" he demanded. McCoy nearly dropped his head, feeling so inadequate.

"I'm not used to the flashbacks I've been getting," he said, "not used to the feeling that I keep doing something to you that I shouldn't just by thinking the way that I do." He turned his back on the ensign so it would be easier to say what he was saying. "I feel like I'm doing something wrong by thinking the way I do about you and I can't tell if this is a result of that damn drug or if this is actually me. If it is the drug then it's just not fair, and if it isn't, I don't know how to react to it." He paused to take a breath and realized that there wasn't a single sound coming from the boy behind him. The look on the navigator's face when he turned made him pause longer. "What?" The boy was staring at him in disbelief.

"Vhat are you trying to say to me, doctor?" he asked, "vhat haff you been sinking about me seence eet vas een your seestem?" McCoy shook his head.

"I've been having flashbacks," he said, "they've been putting images of you in my head… You helping me… and I can't seem to get rid of them. They're not _bad_ mind you… I'm just used to having thoughts like these about _women_. Ensign-"

"Pavel," the younger man corrected, "you said ziss vas not vork related. Call me Pavel." McCoy took a deep breath.

"Pavel…" something about the name on his lips sounded far too personal for some odd reason. "The way I've been thinking about you… makes me want you…" The boy didn't move, frozen to the spot as though he was nailed there.

"But you aren't sure about eet…" he said, questioningly. He walked forward, standing only a few scant inches from the taller man. "Deed you ewer… sink to try eet out before you turned eet down?" McCoy stared. The automatic response was to argue why he shouldn't.

"Pav-" Before he could get out more than that, the Navigator's mouth was on his, the shorter male standing on his toes to reach up to the right height. To McCoy it was like having a dam break open to reveal days and hours of a need he'd been denying himself, especially after that damn fruit concoction. His arms wrapped around The slim waist, dragging him closer and deepening the kiss. The ensign's hands grabbed at his shoulders in surprise, but he didn't pull away. Pavel returned the kiss with the same ferocity with which it was given, breathing a bit harshly through his nose.

McCoy wanted to be gentle, he really did. But his body wasn't letting him. He fought to regain control of it even as he turned the boy to press back against the wall, holding him against it and delving his hands into that soft, curly hair. His heart pounded against his ribs, sending adrenaline into his limbs and brain. It was almost like being on that damn drug again, but this time he knew exactly what he was doing. He might have not been able to stop it, but he knew he would remember this later.

Pavel reveled in the feeling of being pressed between the doctor's firm body and the wall, writhing with pleasure. Breathing hard, he let his fingers run down the other man's chest, dragging across his shirt to feel the living drum beneath. The doctor sucked in a breath of air, pulling away for only a moment. The ensign took that moment to bury his face against the man's neck, an unseen scruff scratching lightly across his cheek as he nibbled the heat of the other's neck, sucking on the spot where the man's pulse jumped, drawing out a small moan. The doctor found his way to one soft earlobe, kissing lightly and then nibbling down to the shoulder before the navigator's shirt got in the way. He cursed softly, leaning forward a bit more, knee sliding between Pavel's legs. The boy arched slightly with a tiny gasp as the doctor's thigh slid through the meeting of his thighs and he gripped the man's back like it was his only lifeline.

"D-doctor…" he gasped out.

"Leonard," McCoy corrected gruffly, still intent on searching out the softest skin he could possibly find on the smaller body. Pavel's eyes fluttered shut and he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

"Leonard," he returned, "ve… ze bed… I can't stand much longer…" The man pulled his face away for a breath, searching the boy's eyes for a moment. Then he nodded and lifted the boy from the floor, carrying him to the bed.

-End of Chapter-

Note from Author:

I'm thinking about letting it end here, because I really don't have any true continuation for this story. But I want to know what you guys think. I have another chapter, but I can't post it here due to the site rules. I can only post what would happen socially, rather than romantically. If you want to read the chapter that I cannot post on this site, it will by posted by Tuesday, July 13th at the latest on a site called y!gallery. If you want another chapter here, please review and let me know what you think. I'll PM you my screen name if you're interested in reading. Thanks for your time and I hope you enjoyed!


	13. Chapter 13

Wow! I never thought that I would work on this fic again, but it seems that it was very popular. Sadly I have completely lost the document that I had the formerly planned chapter saved to and thus have had to completely start over. I'm hoping to get back into this story since I've reread it and have come to love it once again. I apologise for errors. I am without a computer and am only able to post this because I downloaded an app on my kindle so I could type and post. You wouldn't believe just how hard it is ripe for any length of time on a kindle.

Any way, ONWARD!

...

Leonard McCoy awoke in the Ensign`s room, rather groggy and feeling like he had a hangover. That didn't make any sense at all! He'd made sure that he'd eaten and dodged all alcohol before coming to speak with the navigator. His mind came back into consciousness faster than his body could and his eyes refused to focus on anything. Why was this bed so bony? A shift from beneath him made him blink several times to be able to see straight.

"Doctor," came the sleep sodden voice of the navigator who he was still sprawled over, "you are heawy." He immediately rolled off from the boy, fighting to get his mind to make sense of the situation. They were both still fully clothed - however slightly roughed up from their previous activities - and at least from what he could tell they haven't finished anything. His body had none of the endorphins of waking up the morning after. He watched the Ensign sit up slowly, as though his body was giving him issues in the same way Leonard's was.

"Vhat happened?" He asked. "Ze last sing I remember eez you putting me on ze bed and zen... nossing." Leonard grimaced.

"You're the one who had the vodka, kid," he said, "shouldn't you expect a little memory loss?" The Ensign wrinkled his nose slightly at the good doctor as he replied.

"I do not haff memory loss vhen I dreenk. Are you telling me zat you know vhy ve stopped een ze meedle and fell asleep? Zat eez not somesing zat I vould do regularly, doctor... or deed you really find me zat boring?" The hurt within the accusation made him recoil slightly.

"That wasn't what I meant," he tried to sound reassuring. "Look, I don't know why we passed out either, I'm sure that we were just tired and our bodies gave in to what we needed before our minds could think about it." Pavel made an indiscernable noise at this and looked at the time. He paused.

"Zat doss not make any sense," he muttered, picking up the small timepiece from the table beside his bed.

"What is it?" The doctor tried to look over his shoulder curiously. Pavel turned to him and held out the clock.

"Eet feels like I vas asleep for hours, but accordeeng to my clock eet hass only been seweral meenutes." The confusion on his face was clear as day.

"We'll figure this out," Leonard said, still sounding tired. "Let's go to the med bay and see if there's anything that needs to be noted. We've both been through a hell of a time. That might have something to do with this." Pavel nodded and grabbed his uniform to change. Leonard looked away to at least give the illusion of privacy. Though they'd wanted to they hadn't gotten anywhere and he was still sorting through his thoughts. He'd given in to the needs of his body but his brain just didn't follow. That and he was far from accustomed to looking at younger men in any way that was more than platonic friendship.

When they were both put together again they exited the living quarters and headed for medical. When they were only part of the way there they found a young female officer half sprawled against a wall. McCoy immediately went into doctor mode, leaning down and checking her pulse and breathing. He was surprised when she began to stir. It seemed that she was only asleep.

"Wha-?" One of her hands came up to rub her eyes. "What happened?" The CMO lay a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" He asked, "why are you sleeping on the floor?" She moved to sit up straighter against the wall.

"I don't know," she answered somewhat drowsily, "I was headed off to my station and then the next thing I knew you were here waking me up." The man pressed his lips together in thought for a moment. He wondered if he would find this pattern all over the ship.

"Do you feel up to moving?" He asked. She used the wall as leverage and got to her feet rather easily.

"Yes," she gave a nod and straightened her uniform selfconsciously. "Should I report to medical or head to my station, sir? Other than being a little tired I feel fine." The doctor didn't bother thinking about this.

"We were headed to medical," he said, "perhaps you should accompany us as well. I want to figure out what's going on." This woman had nothing to do with what happened on that other planet but she had passed out as well. This might have been something that wall scattered all over the ship. He moved to a console on the wall and clicked a few buttons. "Captain Kirk, this is McCoy. There seems to be a situation spread among the crew that I need to discuss with you." He paused, feeling like he was talking to thin air. The bridge was oddly quiet. "Kirk, Uhura, Sulu... anyone." He clicked off the comm and turned to Chekov. "We need to get to the bridge. Now."


	14. Chapter 14

Hello there to those who seem to like this story more than I expected 3 Sorry about the delay! I've been without internet or a computer at all for a bit so I've succumbed to what I never wanted to do and am using a public computer. Ugh... Yes, I know that makes me sound terribly spoiled, but I can't really help anything about that. I just like typing wonderful stories in the privacy of my own home, is that too much to ask? Well... for the computer that I want it's a hundred or so too much to ask. Hopefully now that I've settled into a long standing living situation I'll be able to get myself together and really stamp down on this fanfiction. I don't know how long it's going to be... I have such a hard time planning these things out. Unlike everything up till Chapter 12 I'm not actually planning how this goes. I hope that doesn't affect the overall of the story itself. Alas, here we go! Thank you for all of your support and patience! Without further ado, Chapter 14: Sleepless!

...

The bridge was silent but for the usual rhythmic beeping as they walked out through the lift doors. Every member of the bridge crew was unconscious on their consoles. McCoy went to Kirk first, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him slightly.

"Jim!" His voice took a few moments to seep into the Captain's brain, the man slowly coming to with a small gasp and a lot of blinking. He seemed surprised to find himself on the bridge, and McCoy in front of him.

"Bones...?" he said slowly, "What happened?" The CMO automatically did a minute health check on his Captain and friend.

"Don't know," he said, "seems everyone on the ship went unconscious all at once... anything feel wrong?" Best to ask the man himself rather than doing a complete physical right there on the bridge. Kirk took a moment as though doing a small systems check for himself.

"No," he said, "just really tired. Is everyone else alright?" McCoy looked at the navigator who had come with him. The young man was waking the rest of the bridge, starting with his best friend, Sulu of course.

"If the pattern is the same, they should be fine," he said, "Come on, Jim. Let's get them up and moving." He and the Captain moved over the bridge the same as Chekov, waking the other members of the bridge crew. Soon the bridge was filled with yawns and tired, but awake eyes. Kirk looked at McCoy.

"You said you found others like this?" he asked, receiving a nod of confirmation, "does that mean that it's the same all over the ship?"

"It's safe to assume, but we should try to call engineering and some of the other decks to make sure," he paused, "Maybe if they are out, that'll wake them up."

A short while later, they were able to get Scotty awake and talking to them and he told them that everyone else there was unconscious as well. It was concluded that there had been a complete consciousness shut down across the entire ship. They set up small teams to wake everyone up, some staying where they were and simply contacting vi computer, while others were to traverse the ships halls and wake any they found in the halls or the commons. Kirk sat in his Captain's chair, still rubbing his eyes with tiredness.

"Do you always have this hard a time waking up?" The chief medical officer asked, wondering if this was normal or if the Captain was exhibiting a symptom of this 'shut down' as he'd come to call it.

"Not usually," he said, "but I'm also not prone to falling asleep on the bridge. Why, you think it's important?" McCoy shook his head.

"I couldn't say," he said, "but it's probably best not to go back to sleep until we know what's going on." Kirk nodded and sat straighter in his chair, shaking his head to get himself to wake up. As if to make an example of the statement, Sulu was back asleep on his console. Chekov shook his shoulder lightly to wake him again. This time though he didn't open his eyes. He merely slid from the console and onto the floor. The young Navigator let out a startled near shout and failed amazingly at catching his friend. McCoy was there in an instant, looking down at the Pilot and checking his vitals.

"He seems fine, honestly," he said, looking relieved. He shook the Pilot as well, trying to wake him again. "Hey Sulu, wake up." He shook him harder. Nothing happened. Chekov tapped his face a few times for good measure. There wasn't a single response. McCoy looked up at the captain. "I should take him to medical and see if there's anything that we can do for him there." The Captain nodded.

"Helmen," he motioned to one of the crewmen to the side of the room, "help the doctor get this man to sickbay." The man nodded and he and the doctor hefted Sulu from the floor and to the lift. Kirk caught Chekov watching them go, very sure on which one the young man was focusing on. He would have said something had the young man not turned away the moment the lift doors closed. He frowned at his tired state and rubbed his eyes again. Luckily, the Navigator and Doctor didn't seem to be having the same tired issues that he and the others of the bridge crew seemed to be having. He wondered minutely why, but when on with life without questioning it aloud. "Systems check the computers for tampering while we were out. Uhura, do you hear anything out there?" The woman took an extra moment, as though at his questioning, something might suddenly pop out.

"No Captain," she said, "it's as though anything out there might have been put to sleep as well." He nodded. She'd been in the process of reporting hearing something to him when they'd all fallen asleep. Whatever it was that she'd heard, was it the thing that had started this or was it something completely detached from their current situation, also floating in space unconscious?

...

Leonard McCoy grimaced as he looked down at his tricorder. There was nothing physically wrong with his patient. Not that his computers could read, anyway. His assistant wasn't doing so well herself. Miss Chapel was looking very tired still and hiding it badly. The rest were the same. Why didn't he feel as tired as the rest? Chekov had seemed wide awake as well.

"Nurse Chapel," he said, "What were you doing before you fell asleep?" He readied a hypo of adrenalin to use on Sulu in hopes of waking him. She looked at him for a moment, her brain apparently not processing as quickly as usual.

"I was cleaning my quarters, sir," she said, "I had spilled some tea on the floor and didn't want to have to go back home to a stain later. These new fibers used on ships are wonderfully stain resistant Sir, but not that much so." He nodded and applied the hypospray to Sulu's neck. The man stirred slightly, but didn't wake. The doctor looked at his tricorder again, noting the rapid heart movement and increased breathing, but no rise in brain function. It was as though the man's brain was locked in the off position like an old fashioned computer. He set the thing down to the side.

"Cleaning," he thought for a moment, "enough that there was a rise in heart rate or was it an easy clean?" She tilted her head at him confusedly.

"Not really difficult in any way. What are you thinking, Doctor?" McCoy crossed his arms.

"I'm going to need to look at more of the crew to see if my suspicions are correct, but I think that some may have been less effected by whatever it was that put everyone to sleep. Call in anyone who seems to be more awake than anyone else... no... pick a deck at random, one that houses people who both had work at the time and those who didn't. Section it off and call them in. I need to check into this."


End file.
